


a sonnet without a title

by simplesilence



Category: Original Work
Genre: he was a bi icon though i'll admit that, i hate shakespeare, so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesilence/pseuds/simplesilence
Summary: the process of doing my english homework (aka writing my second sonnet ever)
Kudos: 2





	a sonnet without a title

constellations decorate fingertips

\- i'm pretty sure that's ten syllables

~~google search history:~~

~~do sonnets have to be in sentences~~

~~grammar rules for sonnets~~

~~how many syllables in balanced~~

fear feels like a perfectly balanced blade

\- okay abab cdcd efef gg

\- i hate rhyming poems it's been so long since i've written one

constellations decorate fingertips

fear feels like a perfectly balanced blade

\- fingertips , lips , ships , slips, eclipse , apocalypse , hips , i feel like body parts make things a bit much for language arts class , goddamn

i'm living through my own apocalypse

\- fuck iambic pentameter

\- blade , made , braid, fade , afraid , stayed

\- writing is not the same on one hour of sleep

in a perpetual state of afraid

\- okay that's 4/14 lines

constellations decorate fingertips

fear feels like a perfectly balanced blade

i'm living through my own apocalypse

in a perpetual state of afraid

constantly held back by being afraid

constantly held back and always afraid

\- what am i even doing is this better or worse than the last one

\- can i get reported for this

\- i hope not

faded sharpie stars on white-knuckled hands

\- nope scrap that

there are holes worn in the soles of my shoes

i am tired of walking in circles

the same view easily becomes old news

the same poem in all of my journals

\- 8/14 lines (about sixty percent!!)

one shade of blue covers all of the walls

the color burned into my memory

stumbling my way down all of the halls

trying to find a quiet place to be

\- this is slowly deteriorating in thought and quality

i am growing tired of my own mind

at least to my feelings, i am not blind

\- ew ew ew ew ew ew oh my god gross burn it i hate rhymes


End file.
